


The "Agents"

by grey2510



Series: Misc SPN One Shots (<10k words) [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Case Fic, Gen, POV Original Character, POV Outsider
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-12
Updated: 2015-04-12
Packaged: 2018-03-22 12:48:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3729502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grey2510/pseuds/grey2510
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Sam and Dean's Fed routine isn't nearly as convincing as they think?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The "Agents"

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little headcanon I wanted to share. It's silly, but whatever.

Detective Derek Hannigan has only been a detective for two years, and he knows if he asks some of the veterans, they’d be more than happy to talk his ear off with stories of all the weird shit they’d seen on the job. Even so, Hannigan’s pretty sure this case would fall well outside those levels of weird.

The two bodies have been mangled, organs are missing, and the stench of blood and flesh makes his stomach churn. The fatal wounds look like they were made by an animal—though not any sort of animal he’s ever come across, even though he’s spent his whole life hunting with his dad in the surrounding woods. But even if this is an animal attack, how does that explain the symbols carved into the victim’s forearms? No one has any idea what they mean, but just looking at them sets Hannigan’s teeth on edge in a way that has nothing to do with the carnage.

His partner and mentor, Detective Loren Miles, is short and petite but absolutely no nonsense. She’s been on the force for fifteen years, has seen and done it all, but she never makes Hannigan feel bad for his lack of experience. She leads by example, and while she expects everyone to keep up without coddling, she’ll always take a minute to explain and guide if necessary. Hannigan hopes that someday he’ll have the opportunity to pay it forward to some young officer.

Hannigan tears his eyes away from the bodies and sees two men in suits emerge from a black beast of a muscle car, flash badges, and cross the yellow police line. One of them is tall, even taller than Hannigan himself, and at 6’3”, he’s used to being one of the tallest around. The tall newcomer has longish brown hair that surprises Hannigan; men in suits in this line of work usually keep their hair in something far more conservative. The other man is also tall, but he looks short in comparison to his companion. He has an easy smile on his face and Hannigan knows that this is the type of guy who always thinks—and probably correctly—that he can charm his way into anything. Miles is approaching the two men, and Hannigan follows her.

They hold up their badges—FBI—in a quick flash again, and the shorter man introduces them, that charming smile plastered on his face. “I’m Agent Page, this is Agent Plant. We’re here about the string of deaths you’ve had this week.”

 _Page and Plant? Really?_ Hannigan is about to comment on the Zeppelin names, but Miles’ eyes are wide and she shakes her head minutely. Hannigan snaps his mouth shut.

“Of course, Agents. Right this way,” Miles says, leading them over to the bodies and filling them in on the case so far.

 _Huh. Since when does Miles just let Feds walk in and take her case without calling the Captain to confirm? And since when do the Feds show up this quickly?_ Something about this just doesn’t sit right with Hannigan, especially when he hears some of the questions Page and Plant ask. _Cold spots? Sulfur? What the hell do they think they're investigating?_

Miles answers all of their questions seriously and Hannigan decides this is officially the freakiest part about the case: Miles is just letting them run their weird-ass investigation without comment or question.

Finally the Feds leave, and Hannigan rounds on Miles. “No disrespect, Miles, but what the hell is going on? Those guys…” he lowers his voice, looking around that no one can hear them, “…are _not_ FBI. The Led Zeppelin names? Tall guy’s hair cut? The badges? The questions they asked? The fact that I’m pretty sure vintage muscle cars aren’t standard issue in the Bureau motor pool? Or how about the fact that _there’s no paperwork_? Since when has the FBI done _anything_ without a fuck-ton of red tape?”

Miles grabs him by the arm and drags him to the edge of the crime scene, away from the rest of the techs and officers. “Hannigan, you’re right. But you got to listen to me: do _not_ bring this up to anyone else, especially not to anyone back at the precinct.”

“What? Miles, what the fuck? Is there something illegal going on?” Hannigan’s eyes are wide and panicked. There’s no way his partner would be caught up in something dirty. No way.

Miles breathes out, then angrily tucks back a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

“Look, you’re pretty new to the job, but there are some things that cops learn through the grapevine. I first heard about it when I was working a job with a joint task-force out near Sioux Falls, but I’ve heard similar stories from others, too. The rumor is, if you’ve got a weird case like this, chances are two guys—most likely the ones we just met—are going to show up and say they’re Feds. They’ll use obvious music aliases, they'll drive a black Chevy Impala, and they’ll ask weird questions. But in a few days, your case will be solved. Maybe not in a way that you can explain to the Captain, but the deaths will stop and those guys will roll out of town like they were never here.”

“So you’re saying that people _know_ they’re impersonating federal agents and they just _let_ them? Miles, that is nine kinds of illegal.”

“I know, Hannigan! But these cops all say the same thing: do _not_ get in the way of these guys and everything will be fine. Apparently there was a case in Baltimore about ten years ago and the cops there tried to arrest these guys and the whole thing almost went sideways. Turns out these guys were the good guys and it was a dirty cop behind the whole thing. Of course, the cop’s partner wrote some standard report about how the guys escaped custody, but I hear she went to bat for them against actual Feds later on. And that's just the tip of the iceberg, apparently.”

“So, what? We’re just going to sit back and let them take our case?”

“No. Everything they do is off the record and it sure as shit ain’t explainable. So we need to wrap up this case on our end and put a bow on it so that no one pokes too hard into all the crap we can’t explain. _Capisce?_ ”

Hannigan is still uncomfortable with this whole scenario, but he tells his mentor he _capisces_. Miles looks at him steadily, unconvinced. “You’re not going to do something stupid, are you? Like follow them around?”

Of course, that’s exactly what Hannigan was planning, but Miles glares at him like she's about to take him down with extreme prejudice. And no joke, she probably could and would.

“No,” he finally concedes.

“Good, because otherwise I’m putting you on desk duty. You can catch up on paperwork all week.”

“Fuck, Miles. This is messed up.”

“So are these murders, in case you hadn’t noticed. I can’t explain them, you can’t explain them, but if those guys can do something about it and make them stop, I’m going to let them.” Without another word, Miles stalks back to the crime scene.

 

For the rest of the week, Hannigan sees "Page" and "Plant" all around town—the Impala is hardly inconspicuous. He tries to keep his word to Miles, but it’s difficult not to keep tabs on them. Diners, a crappy motel, the library, the morgue…they’re everywhere.

On the fourth night, Hannigan is driving home from a buddy’s house where they’d been watching the game and he passes the old abandoned Johnston property. That damn Impala gleams in the moonlight in the driveway. _What the hell are they doing here?_

He parks his car a ways down the road, then circles back on foot. As he approaches, he sees Page and Plant emerge from the house, covered in something dark that Hannigan sincerely hopes is not blood. Hannigan stops, keeping to the shadows to observe.

Page wipes his brow with a dirty sleeve and Plant seems to be favoring his right leg a bit. They’re carrying what look like knives and shotguns, and Page casually opens the trunk of the Impala, tossing in their weapons like they do this every day.

“How’s the knee, Sam?” Page asks.

“Fine, Dean, just banged it when I fell,” Plant—Sam, apparently—replies.

“Good, ‘cause Cas can’t just fix you up anymore,” Dean says gruffly.

“Yeah, I know,” Sam sighs; it’s clearly a familiar argument.

Without another word, they get into the car and the engine roars to life. Hannigan watches the taillights until he can’t see them anymore, then finally feels unstuck from his hiding spot. He has no idea what he just witnessed, and honestly, he’s not sure he wants to know.

The next day, he sees the Impala head out towards the highway, out of town.

The murders stop.

A report gets filed away; Hannigan has no idea what Miles came up with. All he knows is he hopes to never see that damn car again.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments and kudos appreciated!
> 
> Check out my other works (sorted by series for easier navigation):  
> [Grey's works](http://archiveofourown.org/users/grey2510/series)  
> Come visit me on Tumblr! @[grey2510](https://grey2510.tumblr.com/)


End file.
